by Sandra Hill
“That was the last time,” Hilda said.
“Absolutely,” he agreed.
“Why were you looking for me?”
“Oh, my God! I can’t believe I forgot.” He sat up quickly, but not quickly enough.
The door to the storeroom swung open, and there stood two tall, black-haired men in magnificent Viking garb. Behind them stood Torolf’s fellow SEALs, grinning, of course . . . all of them.
“Yoo-hoo!” Pretty Boy said.
“Sweet!” Cage said.
“Way to go, dude!” Geek said.
“Dum de dum dum,” JAM said.
“Oooops!” Torolf said.
“Forget oooops. I am going to kill you,” Hilda said.
Torolf stood quickly and pulled on his braies. Meanwhile, Hilda wrapped herself in a blanket.
The two black-haired strangers just stared, one of them with mirth, the other with grimness. The one with dancing eyes said, “Do my eyes play me false, brother? Is that our cousin Torolf? Yea, I would recognize his arse anywhere.”
Torolf grinned at the teasing man. “This is what I came to tell you, Hilda, before you distracted me.”
All the men guffawed, and Cage remarked, “That’s a new word for it . . . distracted. More like, way-laid.”
“I would like you to meet my cousins, Thorfinn and Steven,” the idiot said, as if she were not standing there bare-arse naked under a blanket and everyone else fully clothed. One of the men wore a black cloak of the softest wool, embroidered along the edge with red and gold thread in a writhing animal design, and lined with fleece. The other’s wide shoulders were covered with a skin coat that reached nigh to his ankles, and upon his head was a gray fox fur cap.
But their finery matters not. More important, how could the lout forget his cousins had arrived? How could he forget that there were probably a shipload of men entering The Sanctuary, as we tupped away like Stig and his latest bitch? How could he forget—
“And this is Hilda Berdottir, the chatelaine of this sanctuary,” he said with a wink at her. “And that’s not a hickey on her neck, in case anyone’s interested. It’s just a bruise she got from bumping into a wall. And my mouth is bruised from hitting the same wall. So, don’t anyone—”
She smacked the lout upside the head, wrapped the blanket more tightly around her, picked up her gunna, turned her chin to the ceiling, and left the stunned men behind her. Through the great hall, through the kitchen, through the back courtyard, she passed her suddenly quiet women as they worked at their normal chores. Only when she got to the stable did she drop the blanket, dress quickly, then put her hands to her hot face.
“What have I done?”
Betimes, naught will do but to kill a lackwit . . .
Hours later, Hilda sat on a stump high on the hill behind The Sanctuary. She was contemplating the bleating sheep before her and the sad state of her life when she heard Britta calling to her from a distance.
Esme, the shepherdess, looked up, as did Hilda, when Britta came running into the clearing, holding her side and panting for breath. “Milady . . . mistress . . . you must . . . pff, pff, pff . . . come quickly. They . . . pff, pff, pff . . . chop down . . . the dam.”
“Whaaat? Who?”
“Torolf, his kin, the bloody SEALs and more men than you can count. With axes and battering rams and shovels, they are making quick work of demolishing the dam it took us so long to build.”
Hilda was already rushing down the hill, Britta and Esme at her side, when she asked, “Why? Why would they do such a thing?”
“The cousins brought with them twelve longships, which are anchored many hides away down the fjord. They break the dam to raise the level of water so they can bring the vessels closer.”
“Twelve . . . twelve longships!” Hilda sputtered. Then another thought occurred to her. “That must mean hundreds of men. Oh my gods! The Sanctuary will be filled with men.”
When they neared the back courtyard, Hilda directed Britta, “Get me the broadsword. Gather those proficient with slingshots and lances, and follow me.”
Soon they were rushing down the incline, over the large grassy sward, then the boggy swale, toward the fjord. The area was indeed flooded with men. Well-armed men. They carried halberds, scramasaxes, long-bladed single-edged knives, spiked maces, broadaxes, and shields.
She directed Britta and six of her women soldiers to aim for the men standing atop the dam, supervising the demolition. She motioned for the others, with lances, two dozen in all, to follow her. “Leave the lout for me. I will take great pleasure in lopping off his traitorous head.”
“To the death!” they all shrieked then as they launched their assault. The two cousins and the pretty SEAL went down with small stones slung at their heads. Other men were ducking here and there to avoid the barrage of thrown lances, some of which were actually hitting their mark.
“Holy Thor! ’Tis a herd of witches flying at us,” one Norseman exclaimed, throwing himself to the ground, hands over his head.
“If my manpart starts shriveling, someone is going to pay,” another Norseman said, also throwing himself to the ground, but this time covering his precious organ with a shield.
It seemed then as if the crowd parted and Torolf, the bloody miscreant, stood spread-legged, hands on hips, wide-eyed and slack-jawed, especially when she raised the broadsword high and prepared to swing it in an arc, hopefully hitting his neck.
“Son of a bitch!” At the last second, Torolf ducked to the side, and Hilda was propelled forward with her weighty sword, which flew from her hands as she landed flat on her face with an ignominious “Ooomph!” For a second, she saw stars.
When she raised her eyes, she saw Torolf ’s tanned leather boots in front of her. Coming clumsily to her feet, she met his angry gaze with an angry gaze of her own.
She and her women were surrounded by dozens of men wielding fierce-looking swords and battle-axes. Several of the men nursed bloody cuts from the slingshots and lances.
Torolf raised a hand for the men to stand back and hold arms. Then he addressed her in a steely voice, “Is this how you treat all your lovers, Hilda? Tsk-tsk-tsk! No wonder they are all dead.”
“Is this how you treat all your lovers, Torolf? Tsk-tsk-tsk! No wonder you have never wed.”
“What the hell is wrong with you?”
“I will tell you what is wrong, you filthy, untrustworthy, uncaring maggot of a man! How dare you destroy my dam? How bloody dare you?”
“Huh?”
“Lackwit, lackwit, lackwit! My dam!”
“That’s what you’re going ballistic over? Dammit! I thought it was something important. Sweetheart, that freakin’ dam is hindering our mission.”
“Our mission? By your leave, sweetling, ne’er did I approve the destruction of that . . . what did you name it . . . free-can dam, which, by the by, has been the one visible thing we women have been able to do to protect ourselves these past five years whilst you, your cousins, and every other able-bodied man in the Norselands was off somewhere else, doing only the gods know what . . . rutting their cocks off, no doubt.”
Silence greeted her long, insulting lecture. But then, a loud, ominous noise filled the area, and water from the mountain runoff, which had been in a holding pond, and water that had been diverted and no longer was, rushed forth like a noisy waterfall. Hilda just stared, heartbroken, at all this breach represented. She blinked, willing herself not to cry, as some of her women already were.
“Be reasonable, Hilda. It’s just a dam.”
“Just a dam? You are a bloody idiot.”
“We make a good pair, then. Because you’re the one acting like an idiot, going postal over a bunch of rocks and twigs.”
“You and I are no pair . . . in any way. Do not think that because I spread my thighs for you that it makes us a pair of anything. Not then, and for a certainty not now.”
His brown eyes flashed, as if about to challenge her assertion. But then he visibly tamped down his tempe
r. “Dams can be rebuilt. We’ll help you . . . later. The demolition was best for our mission to defeat Steinolf.”
“And if you do not defeat Steinolf? What then? If no men return to The Sanctuary, what then? Dost realize how helpless we would be here if longships were able to come so close?”
His silence and gritted teeth spoke much.
Understanding Women 101 . . . rather, Misunderstanding Women 101 . . .
Torolf watched with a mixture of anger and distress as Hilda and her women walked up the hill toward the keep, silent, as if they’d sustained some great loss.
Women! Even when you do them a favor, they get their noses out of joint. No appreciation!
“You ambushed her, Max. It really was a mistake to tear the damn thing down without even asking her,” Geek pointed out.
“Guess you won’t be getting any tonight, big boy.” JAM grinned at him. Sometimes JAM wasn’t as saintly as he appeared.
Cage put a hand on his shoulder. “As my maw maw allus says, ‘Ya cain’t cook the crawfish lessen ya gots a flame.’ And I’m seein’ a big freeze in your future, Casanova.”
“Not to worry, good buddy.” Pretty Boy patted him on the shoulder. “Some days you’re the dog, some days you’re the hydrant.”
“Cut the crap, all of you.”
Thorfinn and Steven came up to him, swearing a blue streak in Old Norse.
That’s all I need. Pain-in-the-ass, full-of-themselves Vikings, on top of pain-in-the-ass SEALs, not to mention a pain-in-the-ass female.
Just then, Stig came strolling by, carrying a stick the size of a baseball bat in his mouth. He didn’t even give Torolf a second glance. Thank God!
“Hey, dude, is that your tighty whities I see wrapped around the stick that horn dog is carrying?” Pretty Boy pretended to be shocked. Who was he kidding? Torolf could have wrapped a condom and Pamela Anderson’s phone number around the blasted thing and Pretty Boy wouldn’t be shocked.
“It was the only piece of clothing I was willing to give up,” he explained. “And it worked. So don’t give me any grief.”
“Should I tell the men to resume dismantling that dam?” Thorfinn asked him, his voice ringing with surliness. “Surely we will not cower beneath the scorn of that witch’s fury.”
Somebody is achin’ for a breakin’ here, and it’s not me. “That witch owns this place.”
“And that signifies how?” Thorfinn shot back. “Since when do the men in our family lie still for a maid’s boot on their necks?”
“I think yer cuz might be sayin’ yer pussy-whipped,” Cage said.
“I don’t need a freakin’ translator.” Nor do I need cousins with an attitude.
“Me, I’m jist tryin’ to help,” Cage said, grinning.
“We do not understand by half the way you talk now, Torolf,” Steven said, staring at him with a puzzled expression on his face. “For example, you are a seal? Ha, ha, ha!”
“SEAL is just a name for the military group I’m with.” Torolf noticed his SEAL buddies listening to him with as much attention as his cousins. It was still hard for them to accept that they’d time-traveled.
In fact, that was proven when Geek asked his cousins, “By the way, what year is this?”
Thorfinn and Steven gawked at Geek.
When Thorfinn answered, Geek exchanged looks with the rest of them . . . a mixture of surprise, horror, and excitement.
“Most of our men won’t go up to the keep because of that bloody sign. Witches, nuns, shriveling cocks . . . enough to turn any full-blooded man away,” Steven told Torolf. “I suggest we let them set up tents here in this clearing.”
Pretty Boy whispered in an undertone to Cage, “Did you get a gander at some of those Vikings? They look like the barbarians on that Capital One TV ad . . . the one where Genghis Khan is riding the kiddie train at the mall and another brute is a flight attendant with a mace swinging from his shoulder.”
“I know what you mean,” Cage whispered back. “Y’all doan wanna meet any of ’em on a dark night on the bayou, thass fer sure. Even the gators would run away.”
“Here’s a news flash, Steve-o,” Torolf told his cousin. “Those women don’t want you or your men in their hall anyhow.”
“That signifies how?” Thorfinn repeated, folding his arms across his chest and glaring at Torolf. No family warmth here! “Really, Torolf, you have been too long gone from the Norselands. Women must needs bow to a man’s greater intelligence.”
“Whoo-boy! You better not ever meet up with Gloria Steinem,” Geek said.
“Glory sty-in-ham? What have glorified pig stys and hams to do with aught?”
“Never mind,” Geek said, a grin splitting his freckled face.
I never thought I’d call another man a male chauvinist pig, but this cousin of mine is earning the title. Torolf pinched the bridge of his nose before looking at Thorfinn and matching him glower for glower. “The Sanctuary belongs to Brunhilda Berdottir by odal right. And it signifies that she has the right to expect courtesy from you, not insults or aggressive behavior.”
Thorfinn’s odd, grayish blue eyes narrowed at him. “What is she to you? Are you wed? Betrothed? Do you have claims on The Sanctuary and Amberstead?”
Torolf laughed. “None of the above. But our families . . . yours and mine, through your mother, my aunt Lady Katla . . . have been friends to Amberstead for many years. Hilda still has the right to answer to the name lady, even though she doesn’t exercise that right at the moment. Treat her with respect, or . . .” He let his words trail off, deliberately.
“Or?” Thorfinn put his fists at his hips and glared at him some more. His cousin, who gave new meaning to dark and brooding, was aching for a fight, and everyone around them recognized that fact.
Steven stepped between the two of them. “The wench . . . uh, lady . . . is not married?”
Torolf shook his head slowly.
“Well, that is good news.” Steven thumped his brother on the back. They were both tall, well-muscled fighting men, with black hair and those odd blue eyes, but where Thorfinn was grim and surly, Steven was smiling and friendly. “Finn and I are the youngest in our family. Landless knights.”
“I think landless means poor as a Harlem church mouse,” Geek explained to Pretty Boy.
“I know what landless means, dickhead,” Pretty Boy shot back.
“Why would Hilda’s marital status be good news?” Torolf asked.
“We seek wealthy wives with estates,” Steven explained.
“Speak for yourself, lackwit,” Thorfinn said. “I will not wed again. You may have Hilda and her estates if you wish.”
So, Thorfinn had been married before. But what was this? They spoke of Hilda as if she had no choice in the matter. And, even worse, Torolf’s heart sank at the prospect of Hilda marrying either of them. Which was ridiculous . . . because Thorfinn and Steven might be landless, but they had many hirds of soldiers who could help her recover and then hold Amberstead. I’m a classic case of dog in the manger! Pathetic! Beyond pitiful! “See, there you go again,” he told Thorfinn. “Making assumptions about Hilda. Giving her no say in the matter. Just like the dam. You’ve gotta ask for her permission.”
“You’re the one who told us to go ahead with the dam destruction,” Thorfinn pointed out. “Dost expect us to stop now and wait on the lady’s whim to proceed?”
Torolf ’s face heated. He’d forgotten that he’d given final orders to demolish the dam. Wait till Hilda finds out about that. She’ll have my head in a basket. “No, go ahead and finish the job. I’ll take care of Hilda.”
His buddies laughed at the idea of him “taking care” of Hilda. He trudged back up the hill to the keep, clearly dragging his feet. Thorfinn and Steven snickered.
“Chin up, little buckaroo,” Pretty Boy advised.
Chin up, or chin down, Torolf dreaded the confrontation to come with Hilda. A lot.
Where’s a suit of armor when a guy needs it?
Chapter 12
“You’re mad at me.”
Hilda flashed him a killing glance as he sat down, uninvited, beside her on a bench in the small milkhouse with its cold underground spring for cooling the goat milk, butter, and cheeses. “How can you tell, you clueless idiot?”
“Okay, really mad.”
“Begone, lout. I am in no humor to deal with you now.”
Hey, I’m in no hurry to deal with you either. Except maybe on your back or against the wall or straddling . . . oh, good grief! “When, then?”
She laughed. “A year or two.”
“Let’s clear the air here. Hindsight is great, but what good are woulda-coulda-shoulda’s? Bottom line, I should have consulted you first about the dam.”
“And you did not. Why?”
She is going to draw every drop of blood from me. “I assumed you would want us to take every step leading to Steinolf’s downfall.”
“Not when any of those steps mean breaking down The Sanctuary’s defenses.”
“That’s not being reasonable.” Like women are ever reasonable! “Oh, don’t go apeshit again. It’s true. A troop of four hundred fighting men are better than just five military men and a handful of untrained women.”
“You said it could work.”
Since when do you listen to anything I say? “It might have, but now we don’t have to take the gamble.”
“ ’Tis still a gamble.”
“Yeah, but the odds are more in our favor now.”
“How dare you gamble with our lives?”
“Life’s a gamble, babe.” Man, I could use a beer.
“Gods save me from your lackwit proverbs!”
“I promise, I’ll rebuild the dam . . . when the battle is over.” Maybe two beers.
“And if you die?”
Oh, nice! “Act as if you care, darling, why don’t you?” “Sarcasm ill suits you.”
“I can’t believe we just spent the night fucking each other’s brains out, this morning, too. And now we’re arguing.”
